


Deck the Halls

by doctorhelena



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9014794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorhelena/pseuds/doctorhelena
Summary: “Crikey O’Reilly, did one of the elves sew you into these trousers?” Peggy and Steve have some trouble with a Santa suit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for [faynia](http://faynia.tumblr.com/) as part of the Steggy Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr (where I am [doctorhelena](http://doctorhelena.tumblr.com/) if you care to follow me!)

“Well, that was - exhausting,” Peggy said, hanging her coat and purse on the hook by the door, plugging in the Christmas tree lights, and flopping down on the couch.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” said Steve, still in the entryway taking off his boots. He followed her into the living room and pulled off his white gloves, tossing them on top of the sack he’d left by the doorway.

Peggy laughed. “You look a bit shell-shocked, but you do make a rather fetching Father Christmas.”

Steve had not taken much convincing to play Santa Claus at the Christmas party in the lobby of their building, and Peggy had somehow been conscripted to usher excited children back and forth all afternoon. At least her job hadn’t come with a costume, although she supposed Steve should be used to that sort of thing.

She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Sit down, St. Nick.”

He came over and sat. “It was a little exhausting,” he admitted, stretching out his neck.

Peggy poked his padded midsection. “You’d probably have more endurance if you lost a little weight.”

“Ha, ha.” He yawned hugely and leaned back against the couch.

“I think you mean ‘Ho Ho’.” Peggy nestled a bit closer and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, decompressing. “So, while I have you here, any hints on what I’ll be getting for Christmas?” she asked after a while, fingers playing absently with his beard. It had been a long week in general, and it was nice to just sit, with no mention of the SSR, Leviathan, or anything to do with the US government.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Not so fast, ma’am. You’ll have to sit on my lap to get that kind of information.”

She shrugged and repositioned herself across his legs, her feet resting on the spot she’d just vacated. “Well?” she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder again.

“That depends,” he said, drawing her chin up with a finger. “Have you been a good girl this year?”

“Depends who you ask,” she replied with a wink, and he leaned down and kissed her.

The large metal buckle on his belt dug uncomfortably into her hip, and she felt somewhat in danger of smothering in artificial facial hair. When they pulled apart a few moments later, both of them were pulling strands of beard out of their mouths, and Peggy laughed.

“I have a newfound sympathy for Mrs. Claus.”

Steve chuckled. “You don’t think Santa is a very good kisser?”

“Steve!” She made a face. “Don’t talk about Father Christmas that way.”

“So you think he _is_ a good kisser?” His eyes widened in pretended shock.

She shook her head. “Steven Rogers, you know very well what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” he said, drawing a slow line up her left leg until she squirmed a little. “I think Santa’s allowed to be in love with his wife.”

“I suppose,” she said, her voice lower and considerably more breathy than she’d intended. His pupils were huge, and when she leaned in to kiss him she was careful to avoid the beard.

The belt buckle was still uncomfortable against her hip, and she wriggled a little to reposition herself. Steve made a faint strangled sound and she did it again, smiling into the kiss as she felt his body respond to her movement.

His hands slid under the hem of her blouse as she moved to straddle his lap, and they both sighed as their hips made contact.

It was the unfamiliar intrusion of the padded midsection of the costume that made Peggy open her eyes and realize that she was behaving very inappropriately with Father Christmas.

“Steve,” she murmured as he brushed a thumb over one of her nipples, sending a shower of sparks straight to her core, “You’re dressed as Father Christmas. We probably shouldn’t be -” she gasped, “- we shouldn’t -”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked immediately, stilling his hands and hips.

“No!” she said. “No, don’t stop. But -”

“Do you want me to take off the costume?”

She frowned, imagining how long it would take him to get out of the thing. And then, she imagined _helping_ him out of it, and was lost.

“Leave it on,” she said, finally, unable to tear her eyes away from his. “But,” she added firmly, “I am Mrs Claus in this scenario.”

His eyes widened. “God, Peggy, of course you are.”

She smiled. “Well then, darling, where were we?”

He smiled too. “I think I was about to stuff your stocking.”

“I certainly hope you don’t talk like that in front of the elves”, she said, fighting to keep a stern face.

He brushed a thumb across her breast again and she caught her breath. “You’re the only one,” he assured her, and she knew he was talking about much more than appropriate elf etiquette.

“I love you too,” she breathed against his lips, before spluttering and spitting out more strands of white material. “I wish you’d shave off this bloody beard, though,” she muttered.

He huffed out a laugh. “It’s kind of part of the deal.” Their hips were rocking together more rhythmically now, and she was beginning to have trouble following the thread of their conversation.

She tugged at the buttons of his coat, and then gave up and fumbled at his belt buckle instead, growling in frustration as it proved more difficult to open than she’d expected. “Crikey O’Reilly, did one of the elves _sew_ you into these trousers?”

“Pretty sure it’s all done by -” he inhaled sharply as she bypassed the belt entirely and just slid her hand down the front of the trousers, “magic.” His eyes slipped shut as her fingers wrapped around him.

His hands curved over her bottom and pulled her closer so that she was rocking against the movements of her own hand. His fingers barely brushed skin under the hem of her skirt, and everything was igniting sparks but nothing was quite _enough_.

Steve seemed to be having the opposite problem, and he suddenly grabbed her wrist and stilled her hand. “Stop a minute,” he said, and with great effort she released him and slid further back on his lap. His eyes still closed, he took several steadying breaths.

“If you keep that up, we’re going to have an even bigger problem with the pants,” he said hoarsely.

“Hmm,” she said, “Well, as we wouldn’t want to scandalize the laundry elves, we’ll simply have to get you out of these trousers. Can I have another go at the buckle?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, and she reached forward carefully and tried again to work the belt free of its buckle. It was well and truly stuck.

“Let me try,” said Steve, reaching over her wrists to the buckle. He wasn’t any more successful than she was, and she squirmed impatiently.

“Bloody hell!” she said, almost growling in frustration. “Just rip it open!”

He hesitated. She leaned forward, giving him a good look down the front of her blouse as motivation, and he let out another strangled groan. “Peggy…”

“Mrs. Claus,” she corrected him absently, staring intently at the offending buckle. Suddenly the obvious occurred to her and she sat up straight. “I have an idea. Hold onto your hat, and I do mean that literally. We need a change of position.”

She slid the rest of the way off his lap and onto the floor, in the same motion pulling his wrists over her shoulder and rolling backwards, planting one foot on his padded belly and somersaulting him back over her head. She rolled with him, following his momentum so that she ended up on top of him, straddling his hips. “Much better,” she breathed, tossing her hair back.

Steve was looking at her the way he had after she’d punched Gilmore Hodge. “I didn’t know Mrs. Claus knew that move,” he breathed, sliding his hands along the backs of her thighs, rucking up her skirt as he trailed his fingers around to the front.

“We needed more space,” she explained with a small gasp, and he grinned. “Mrs. Claus knows quite a few moves,” she added casually, pulling up his jacket and starting to tug his shirt out of his trousers.

“Does she know how to get Santa out of his pants?” he asked hopefully, sliding his other hand up to cup her breast again.

“Yes!” she gasped, more loudly than she’d intended. “All we - all we need is a little ingenuity,” she panted, and in one smooth motion she yanked out the pillow padding his midsection and pulled his now-loose trousers down far enough to free him from his underwear.

“Huh,” he said, “I didn’t think of that.”

“Good job you have me then,” she said cheerfully, resettling herself over his hips. They both gasped and Peggy moaned.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Good thing.” He steadied her with his hands as she pulled her underwear to one side and finally there was nothing left between them.

“You’re pretty amazing, Mrs Claus,” he managed to gasp out as he pushed into her. A small part of her mind considered the picture they must be making right now - Father Christmas on his back amid the fallen pine needles under the Christmas tree, being thoroughly ravaged by Agent Carter of the SSR. And then, as they both started to move in earnest, coherent thought fled entirely and the world narrowed to nothing but feeling.

There were gasps and sighs and inarticulate noises, and then the shimmering tension in her core spilled over until she could hardly stand it. The world hung balanced for a long, exquisite moment before she shattered into pieces, only half-aware that she was making a lot of noise. She collapsed on top of Steve, who had followed her over the edge, and didn’t even care particularly that she was breathing beard hair again.

They lay like that for a long time, Peggy watching the coloured light from the Christmas tree through half-open eyes. “Well,” she finally said, “Nobody can accuse us of not having Christmas spirit.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not so sure about that. Do you know how close you came to taking the whole Christmas tree down?”

She grinned. “A little danger has always rather been our thing, don’t you think, darling?”

Although, she reflected, she might never look at Father Christmas the same way again.

THE END


End file.
